Poetry - The Halloween Dragon

Part I

Trick ’r Treat

Once upon a Halloween as darkness settled in,

Witches climbed the moonlit sky, and Goblins kept folks in;

a few of us would brave the night pulling young ones in their wagons,

and risk attacks by spooky Ghosts and the dreaded Candy Dragon.

Now Halloween, as most folks know, is the time for Goodie eatin’

and all that sweet stuffs gathered up by the art of “Trick ‘r Treatin”’.

With my little brother all dressed up like an Elf in Kelly Green,

I hauled him ’round the neighborhood on his first Halloween.

And so began the storied quest of me, Rick, and his wagon,

and how most of our goodies fell to that nasty Candy Dragon.

We walked on miles of sidewalks, not steppin’ on the cracks,

yelled “Trick ’r Treat” for all our worth and filled our goodie sacks.

Then as the moon rose high and bright, we turned and headed home,

opting for the shortcut through the silent woods alone.

Moonlight lit our path at first, ’til the forest gathered ’round,

cloaking us in velvet black as the crooked path unwound.

It was then I spied a shadow flittin’ through the trees,

something followed right behind us cracklin’ through the leaves.

We stopped in all that darkness, through the night air came a hush,

then an eerie, mournful sobbing came softly through the brush.

We eased the brush back, took a peek, our eyes grew big and round...

a Dragon twice the size of Rick was sittin’ on the ground.

He sat beneath an old Scotch Pine smoke leakin’ from his ears,

and down his scaly Dragon face ran shiny Dragon tears.

High upon his green head grew a single tiny horn,

and from his shoulders, tiny wings, both bent and slightly worn.

Across his creamy yellow breast, his heart-shaped tail was curled,

while waves of smoky Dragon Breath around his body swirled.

Now we’d heard many stories from the kids he’d terrorized,

but all we saw was sadness in those big green Dragon eyes.

He didn’t seem so bad to us, tears hissin’ as he cried,

but look in’ back I wish I’d seen how quickly they had dried.

We offered him a Baby Ruth and asked him what was wrong,

then found he liked his candy “CHOMPED” and swallowed.. wrapper on!

He told us he was lost it seemed, one path looked like another,

and asked us if we’d kindly help him find his Dragon Mother.

Time he said was growing short, the Witching Hour neared

and he must find the Fairy Bridge before it disappeared.

The bridge he said was Magic, the door to Fairyland,

and made from woven moonbeams by the Fairie's nimble hands;

And when the Hallowed Moon does fall the bridge cannot be seen,

for Fairy Magic only works by it’s light on Halloween.

And then the Dragon blubbered on how the bridge was standing still

where an old stone ruins stood among some tombstones on a hill.

I knew the place, the Old Stone Church, my face turned ashen gray.

Why, even in the noonday sun, I’d never go that way.

It’s told one Sunday, years before, the Church began to rock,

then fell in on old Reverend Tull, and his entire flock.

Rebuilding plans were set aside when from the stones arose

a screamin’ Devil, straight from Hell, dressed in the Reverend’s clothes.

And still they say, on moonlit nights, his brimstone pulpit burning’,

engulfed in flames, the Preacher stands, and finishes his sermon.

Now I was kind of squeamish when it came to Ghosts and such,

and walkin’ through the Reverend’s yard just didn’t thrill me much,

but Rick was made of sterner stuff, there wasn’t much he feared,

and by the way his eyes lit up I knew we’d volunteered.

So, off we wandered, arm in arm, our pace was rather slow,

our hearts were leapin’ in our chests... the moon was sinkin’ low.

Right behind the wagon squeaked and rattled right along,

and further back the Dragon hissed and squealed some Dragon Song.

Trees bent down and brushed our cheeks as we passed the forest by,

and all the night was watchin’ us with pallid yellow eyes.

High above, among the stars, on straw brooms Witches sailed,

and deep down in the slimy bog, Wolves and Goblins wailed.

We left the forest far behind and came to Dead Man’s Hill..

I’ve never felt such fear before and probably never will.

Around us Spooks and Spirits whirled and danced with falling leaves.

Ahead, the Swamp, where the cedars grow, and the Dead Man’s Widow grieves.

Through the Swamp, just a hill beyond, stood the Reverend’s place.

The Dragon giggled merrily and a smile crossed Ricky’s face.

We shared a candy bar or two before we started down.

I glanced up at the waning moon, the Old Man seemed to frown.

There’s nothing that a boy wants more than to call himself a man,

and if a shortcut shows itself a boy does all he can;

But as we left the hill that night I should have asked myself

if the road to manhood should be shared with a Dragon and an Elf.

End of Part One

Randy L. Indish

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